


a slow death.

by towards



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: the daemonification process is more horrifying than they could have ever imagined.just a drabble to get some ideas out.





	a slow death.

They find him in the hanger, collapsed on the floor and wrung out of nearly all his life. Ardyn is no where to be found - gone again, never to be caught. Prompto knows at once that whatever test this was they had not passed, somewhere they had stumbled and fallen, and because of that the world would never be the same.

Nothing would ever be the same.

But they did not know that yet. No, the most they were sure of was that they had to get out of here and regroup. If Noctis was alive that meant the Crystal hadn't rejected him -- there was still hope. And for the time being that was enough to keep despair at bay.

Gladio's sporting a bite on his shoulder that he claims doesn't hurt. Ignis is limping but he too claims to be fine, and despite the exhaustion set heavy in his bones, Prompto feels as though he can push on. Gladio hefts the prince onto his back and Prompto scouts ahead, guiding them out of the facility and into the hanger for the ships. The takeoff is smooth and the flight is quiet and somber, each man reeling with the implications of all that they'd witnessed.

They don't realize how far amiss things are until the sun fails to rise.

The days had been growing shorter and shorter, that was true - but this was different. There was no light. No shift in temperature. No indication that any time had passed at all. Prompto hung uneasily by Noct's bedside, eyes cast out the window, waiting for a sign that perhaps they'd misread the clock, hoping long after noon has come that he's wrong and this is all an awful misunderstanding.

He squeezes Noctis' hand tighter and prays for him to wake soon.

The ship sets down near Hammerhead. They're greeted with the survivors, tired and run thin from their own misadventures with daemons but whole and well. They've sent scouts to Galdin Quay to pick up supplies and any survivors but no one has returned yet - not a surprise, they say, the roads are treacherous right now. This may be the end of the world but at this point the world is merely ending, it has not yet ended. This is manageable and they will survive.

But they've barely unloaded Noctis from the sickbay and settled him in the camper when that too changes. Gladio develops a cough. The cough turns to gagging. The gagging turns to blood over his hands. The big man falls heavy on one knee and tries to wave away concern, but it's no use. He's running a fever of a hundred and four. Within hours he's incoherent, babbling, hysterical. Ignis goes to aid him and nearly loses a finger for his trouble, Gladio's teeth dig into the thick leather of his glove and leave indentations on his skin. They pull back, keep their distance, horrified by what they see but determined to blame it on fever and sickness.

This is not the daemonification process that they are aware of. This is different. He's surely fine. They say this to each other like a mantra, blame it on exhaustion and working himself to the bone trying to save them. They swear up and down it will be fine, just fine, and even if neither believes it -- it's easier than admitting that they may be doomed aloud.

They watch the King's shield rust and crumble. Ignis asks for status reports on the hour and Prompto delivers them, at first with good humor and optimism and then slowly, so slowly, with the acknowledgement that there is no hope creeps into his tired voice. Death stands with them in the small gas stop. Draining their vitality and laughing as they tried to fight his touch with modern medicine that balked in comparison to these ancient curses. They stubbornly plan around his recovery, assuring themselves that he is immortal and more than a man, while under their breaths they say prayers to patron Gods that either do not care or are not as powerful as they may have you believe.

When Gladiolus Amicitia dies it is a blow to them.

When he gets back up and tears Cid's throat out, the world rocks on it's axis. 

He and Ignis are quick to move. It's chaos, people don't know what to do or where to go. Prompto swings Noctis onto his back and weathers the weight of him with fear, one hand gripping Ignis' tightly while the blind man braces the Prince with his other hand. Cindy, distraught but not one to lose her head, explodes out of the garage in a clunker she'd been repairing with a demand they pile in. The door slams shut in old man Cid's ruined face, his gorey, half-chewed face smashes against the passenger side window and leaves a bloody smear in it's wake. Cindy lets out a sound but she doesn't hesitate, she guns it, and they go.

They don't look back.

Prompto's eyes catch the bloody mark on her arm. Her eyes meet his and she tries to sound confident when she says the lie, "it's just a scratch, sug."

She lasts longer than Gladio, at least. She asks them to put her down and Prompto does, tears in his eyes, solemnly swearing to her that he'll find a way to fix this. He'll get revenge - it's the most he's ever said to her, and his last words to her come out choked and incoherent... and if he stops moving forward, he feels the pressure of the trigger against his finger and feels sick to his stomach.

Lestallum falls in a matter of hours once the first infected had reached it. Most of the city's population is decimated, though the survivors find a way by holing up in the highest points and praying for help. Ignis and Prompto had opted to steer clear, sticking instead to the woodlands, picking their way to the chocobo farms so that they can carry their sleeping prince with more ease while they grapple with what to do now.

The haven still serves as a ward against the monsters of the night, but they can't stay forever. He lays a hand against the slumbering Prince's face, the smile tugging at his lips is pained and grim. 

"We could really use your help right about now, buddy..."

[ Ignis gently pulls the cracked sunglasses off his face, bends to clean them. His sightless eyes stay trained on the ground in front of him, meditative and somber. "I fear we may be beyond even His help now."


End file.
